


Q-rious

by loftyperch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sort Of, it's for a mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loftyperch/pseuds/loftyperch
Summary: "The best excuse for getting caught in an office, of course, is …”“Canoodling.”“Precisely. And, unless you want to appear extremely guilty, you’d better be right in the middle of something worth hiding.”
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 15
Kudos: 302





	Q-rious

**Author's Note:**

> So, I never once imagined myself writing a Bond fic, much as I loved the franchise (since the Brosnan days, anyway) ... but then they were like "Phoebe Waller-Bridge," and suddenly I cared about the _writing_ for these movies.

The Party  
\---------  
A London mansion, owned by Russian oligarchs.  
Target: any computer on the mansion’s LAN  
007: must get Q alone with such a computer for at least twenty minutes  
Q: must steal as much information as he can  
Dress: semi-formal  
Time: 21:00-??

The Ride Over  
\---------  
“So, Q, how good are you _really_ at all this hacking business?”

“And by what metric are we judging the _realness_ of my skills? Please slow down.”

Bond sped up. “Could you do it competently while, say, getting a blow job?”

Unsure what else to do, Q gave it real thought. “I suppose it depends on the blow job.” He grew suspicious. “Is that likely to be relevant tonight?”

“The potential is there. The best excuse for getting caught in an office, of course, is …”

“Canoodling.”

“Precisely. And, unless you want to appear extremely guilty, you’d better be right in the middle of something worth hiding.”

“And you’ve … used this technique before?”

“Many times, although it’s usually me doing the spywork … _always_ me, come to think of it. The girls I’m with tend to be blissfully unaware of who I am.”

“The girls you’re with tend to end up dead.”

That had been cruel, Q realized in hindsight. Turning his gaze out the window, he waited for Bond to speak.

“I won’t let that happen to you.”

Q gave a snort. “I’m too important.”

“You’re too important _to me_.”

Embarrassed (and unsure why), he sank down into his seat, better to ignore the roar of the giant, ancient engine as Bond burst out of a red light.

“So,” Q coughed, “what were you picturing for this charade? I don’t imagine we’ll be able to speak plainly once we’re beyond the door.”

“Very true. But we _will_ be able to discuss boundaries as we go along.”

Q grimaced. “Wonderful.”

The Long Wait  
\--------  
Bond clung to his young charge all night, watching his drinks, watching his back ... watching his ass. All part of the act, of course. Whenever someone got too interested, he’d pull the kid closer possessively. And, from the outside, that’s all it appeared to be: jealousy, greed, lust.

After an hour or so, couples began to drift off, but Bond waited; the food was smashing, and he enjoyed watching Q try to compute the wild things he was seeing and feeling.

When the time felt right, Bond steered them away from the throbbing heart of the party and down a hall.

“Let’s go play government lackey and IT guy,” he said with a wink.

They found a computer in a study, and Bond sat regally in a swivelling leather chair. He loosened his tie and smirked.

“I seem to be having some trouble with my system. Would you take a look?” He cheekily rolled the chair _just_ far enough away for Q to squeeze beneath the desk and plug in a pocket drive.

“Hmmm,” Q hummed, gamely playing along so far, seemingly only the slightest bit annoyed. “All your _hard_ ware looks good. Let’s run some diagnostics.”

Bond shuddered involuntarily as his quartermaster slithered up from the floor and twisted to sit in his lap. Q typed away, apparently forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be acting naughty. Bond reminded him with a firm grip on his hips and a little moan.

“Well, that’s got to run for about fifteen minutes before I can tell you what’s wrong.” Data had to be decoded and copied before Q could cover his tracks.

“I do hate to just sit and watch the progress bar.” Bond gave a tug, grinding Q harder against his growing erection.

“Oh!” Q gave a start. “Oh, you really want to do this.”

“Did you think I didn’t?” Despite that unwavering smirk, Bond was genuinely surprised. He thought he’d been terribly unsubtle all evening.

“Well yes, rather.”

“We’ve been curious about each other since the moment we met, haven’t we?”

Q nodded, somewhat grudgingly.

“Then let’s satisfy that curiosity, once and for all. It’s the perfect excuse, really.”

“Glasses on or off?”

“Oh, I want you to be able to see this, darling.”

The Payoff  
\-------  
Suddenly finding himself with permission to do so, Q stopped dutifully thinking of equations and algorithms. Instead he let himself begin to truly participate.

He twisted farther in Bond’s lap for a kiss. He’d expected passion, heat, _anything_ but the tender, tentative kiss that he got. Unwilling to let it end, he squirmed yet farther, draping his legs over the arm of the chair and leaning back. Bond followed magnetically, dipping his head to keep tasting and testing Q’s mouth. One big, strong hand slid down his thigh, brushed over his hip, and began untucking his shirt. Emboldened, Q reached out with his free hand to touch all the bits of Bond which had taunted him over the years: the steel jaw, the muscular neck, and the firm, broad chest. Dexterously opening a few buttons, Q was even able to run his fingers over blazing hot skin.

“Should we have that talk about boundaries now?” Bond asked against Q’s mouth, his hand trailing in a holding pattern just above Q’s belt buckle.

Q couldn’t suppress the roll of his eyes.

“I’d rather explore than discuss.” It occurred to him that he’d need to do more than participate, that Bond wouldn’t just take what he wanted. Not here, not now … not _yet_. 

Accordingly Q hopped out of Bond’s lap and went fluidly to his knees. “I didn’t expect you to be such a gentleman about this.” He made efficient work of Bond’s belt and trousers and pulled the chair a smidgeon closer.

“I expected _you_ to be much more coy.”

“No time for that; we’ve only got fourteen minutes left.” Winking, he freed Bond’s cock and held it still for inspection. Alas, as he’d noted, time was of the essence, and Q had to hurry from gazing to stroking to nuzzling. “Don’t come yet,” he warned as he moved on to _tasting_. He went slowly and wetly down the thick, elegantly curved cock, nearly to the root, and he could _hear_ Bond’s fingers clutching the armrests.

He spent approximately the next four minutes lavishing his every effort on this most unexpected of partners. When (right on schedule) Bond’s hand took him by the hair and pulled him away, Q knew he’d gotten the point across: he wasn’t inexperienced, he wasn’t intimidated, and he _definitely_ wasn’t patient.

Q stood, obeying Bond’s every nonverbal command, gasping only slightly when Bond surged up out of the chair and crowded him right up onto the desk.

They kissed, brief and harsh, as Bond dealt with Q’s trousers. Then the office spun, and Q found himself face down on mahogany, a slick finger already circling his ass. _This_ was the Bond he’d fantasized about: confident, competent and eager. Q was so hard he couldn’t even begin to apply any kind of logic. Of _course_ Bond had lube stashed somewhere in the perfect lines of his suit. Of _course_ a heavily armed guard peeked in the door, threw them a thumbs up, and moved on.

Q stretched around one finger, then two, vaguely suspicious that they were deliberately avoiding his prostate. When the third finger breached him, he no longer noticed what _wasn’t_ being touched, lost in a desperate _wanting_ for _everything_.

That wanting was answered with the pulsing head of a cock, and he stretched around that, too, pushing back onto it. Even prepped and silently begging, Q couldn’t take it all in one go. Bond had to ease out a bit and slide in again (and again, and again) until his hips were flush with Q’s. The air was thick with huffs and grunts, and Q was leaking all over the desk drawers.

Remembering to sneak a look at the progress bar, he was disappointed to find they were running out of time. At least it was an excuse to set the pace that he wanted, find the right tilt of his hips and ride that sweet spot to a messy completion, moaning into the blotter.

Bond held out another moment, slowing to the more languid movements he might have used under better circumstances. He didn’t so much snap his hips as roll them, running his cock almost constantly over Q’s prostate.

“Fuck!” Q barked, slamming a fist on the blotter. _Jesus_ , it felt like he was coming again, not two minutes on.

Right on cue, Bond exploded with a sob, his hand finding curly brown hair and _grabbing_ it.

 _Damn_. In all his calculations, Q had neglected to account for recovery time. He could barely move, and the computer was awaiting his input.

“No worries, love.” Bond kissed his neck, sensing his distress. Unaccountably calmed, Q took as many deep breaths as he needed, and let the mission go for a moment longer. 

The moment had to end eventually, though. Q busied himself at the keyboard while Bond distracted the guard by feigning embarrassment and asking for cleaning supplies. These were provided, and he set to with practiced efficiency. By the time they were done no trace could be found of them, either visibly or digitally.

The Ride Back  
\-------------  
“Please say something.” Bond couldn’t stand the silence as he sped them back to the tunnels. He found himself right back where he started: cautious, preemptively guilty, unsure what tack to take.

Q lolled adorably in the seat, so relaxed he barely noticed the sudden, brief screech of tires upon acceleration. “I need a coffee … and toast.”

“Easy enough to procure.” And an encouraging sign. “What else do you need?”

“Continued respect despite my recent … _fieldwork_.”

“I will _never_ not respect you, Q, I hope you know that.” Still not really the information Bond was attempting to elicit. “And there’s plenty of fieldwork you could be doing ... if you were interested.”

“Always interested in saving the world, 007.”

 _Oh_ , Q was teasing him. Another encouraging sign.

“And was your curiosity satisfied?”

“My curiosity will _never_ be satisfied, Bond, I hope you know that.”


End file.
